


Love Unsought

by KillerKueen



Series: Rumbelle Showdown 2019 [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied witchiness, Spinner Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Tumblr Prompt, mother fucking magic happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 22:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20767613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKueen/pseuds/KillerKueen
Summary: From the tumblr post: the most wanted woman in town has announced that she’ll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat’s neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down but to no avail. The cat is simply too quick and clever.Obvious solution: befriend the cat, and it’ll give you the key.





	Love Unsought

**Author's Note:**

> Round 3 Prompt: sky at sunset; fruit basket; cottage
> 
> Varied slightly from the tumblr prompt. Also I’ve written some edits since the original posting.

Another market day, another round of just enough of his wares selling to keep him and his son fed. Another failed meeting with the flower seller. With Miss Belle, sweet and charming.

Well, calling it failed made it sound like it happened, which it didn’t. She had stopped coming to market weeks ago, stopped buying his blue thread. Stopped smiling at him, even when he fumbled with her change or choked on his words. Once, he had worked up the nerve and asked about the book that was poking out of her bag, and she had spent twenty glorious minutes gushing about far off places, magic spells, and a prince in disguise.

Oh, but she had been full of stories.

He would have quite liked to hear more of them. And Rumpelstiltskin would have asked, if given the chance. He had worked up the courage to buy a flower and ask about her current book, was going to march right up to her stall and not stutter at all. But then.

The next market day came, and Belle was nowhere to be found.

“Bae tells me it was because she’s issued a challenge for her hand, and won’t come back until someone’s won,” he said aloud. Rumpelstiltskin carefully packed away the rest of the thread, making sure the ends were still tucked neatly into the spools. “Personally, I think the attention she kept getting from men made her uncomfortable, but she was too nice to tell them all to bugger off.”

An agreeing chirp was his answer, though somewhat muffled under his cloak.

Rumple smiled, reaching out to find the proper fold she was hiding under. He plucked at a corner, and—ah, yes. There.

The cat shook her head, ears flicking as she emerged. She gave the emptying square a bored glance before swiveling to look up at him, her blue eyes curled and sleepy.

“Hopefully she’ll come back, once they lose interest.” He scratched under her chin, the cat happy to tilt her head and let him. “You’ve been a lazy thing today, love.”

She was a pretty creature, with her soft dark fur and bright blue eyes, and intelligent to boot. Rumple had always thought cats cold and aloof, nothing like what his sheep dogs were. But she’d been the one to find him out in his field, had sat at his feet and watched as he cared for his flock with a careful, critical eye. She had been there the next day, too. By the fifth, he’d started bringing a bit of goat milk, and that was that. 

He supposed that was how it worked with cats; they chose their master.

Not that it made the cat his. For one, she never followed him home, and turned her nose up at his dignified attempts of getting her to play with string. For two, there was a white ribbon tied around her neck. The bow neat and prim, tied by someone who claimed her and must love her very much.

His or not, the cat kept him company while he worked, sometimes sleeping in the grass, sometimes climbing into his lap when he sat in the shade for lunch. With her bright, round eyes watching, ears perked as if waiting for a story, Rum found himself talking about the sheep, about his old town, about Bae. She was a captive audience, sitting in his lap, listening.

He found he quite liked the feeling, being listened to. It made him wish she could talk back.

The cat had taken to following him to the market, hiding in his basket while he traded wares for coin, or making a bed of his cloak.

As it was, the clouds were moving in and the sun was thinking about setting, and the market day was over.

“It must be the storm coming in, aye?” He asked, staring at the sky. He missed the rosy pink of sunset. “You’re usually gone by now.”

The cat mewled around a sleepy yawn, then turned over and showed her belly. The ribbon was stark against her dark fur. Her eyes closed. Asleep again, or at least unconcerned. 

He looked back to the clouds that were heavy and dark. The storm looked like it’d be a big one, and he was worried the poor thing would drown if he left her to get home, wherever that was. Surely her master wouldn’t miss her for a night, would even assume that she was sheltered, somewhere. That was the way of cats, after all, wasn’t it?

Yes, better to stick with him. 

After making sure his wares where neatly tucked away, he carefully scooped up his sleeping ward and tucked her away, too. She hardly stirred, instead stretching out along the wall of the basket, before curling into a ball. There was no denying the contented smile on her wee face.

Rum shook out his cloak, failing utterly to rid it of cat hair, and took the basket in one hand, his staff in the other, and set for home.

He pushed open the door to his cottage just as the first raindrops started to fall. The cat yawned, waiting for Rum to set the basket down on the table before climbing out. She surveyed his home with a cursory glance before headbutting his side, demanding his full attention.

“It’s not much,” he said, hand sliding against fur. “But it’s home.”

She meowed happily, her purr mixing with the growing sound of the rain. 

Rum looked out the small window. Dinner could wait until Bae returned — a large part of him was hoping that wouldn’t be until morning, and Bae had taken shelter somewhere safe. Perhaps he’d made it as far as the Nolan’s farm—they were kind enough to offer Bae a place, and would do so even if they didn’t like his boy.

Moving away from their old home had been for the best, least the shadows of his reputation fall too darkly across his son, as his own father’s had. Though he lamented taking Bae away from Morraine and her sisters, he got along well with the village children and especially the Nolan’s first born, Emma.

A soft mewl pulled him from his thoughts. He pulled away from the window, back to his guest, to find that she was no longer on the table. Instead she’d moved further into his home, perched by the hearth. Her blue eyes almost glowed in the dying light. He wondered if they’d soon be the only thing to see, the stars and the moon blocked out as they were.

“A bit of light and warmth would do us some good,” he found himself saying.

Her tail swished back and forth in agreement.

Once the fire was built up, Rum sat at his spinning wheel. His stool was angled so that the heat was pleasant at his side, and the light could help guide his movements should he need it, even if spinning was something he could do in his sleep. He had the wool hooked, foot on the pedal, when the cat meowed again. She was sitting next to his wheel, tail curled around her feet. She blinked at him expectantly.

“Would you like a pillow? Or perhaps you’d like my cloak again.” All the dogs he’d owned had been content to sleep wherever they’d go undisturbed the longest, but he noticed that wasn’t good enough for a cat.

The cat meowed, which he took as a “no, thank you.” 

She eyed him, holding his wool, about ready to spin. With an admirable grace, she jumped up to his lap, ducking under his arm. She started to purr as she kneaded his thighs, circling around till she found the perfect spot. Rumple scritched under her chin. She chirped happily, the sound vibrating against his fingers.

And so they sat, listening to the storm and the crackling fire, watching the turn of the wheel.

Some time later, the door creaked open, then slammed shut. Rum startled, snapping the thread and—more importantly—jostling the cat, who  _ mmphed _ unhappily. 

“For gods sake, Bae,” Rumple said, looking over at his son, a little worse for wear. “You gave me a fright.”

“Sorry, Papa,” Bae said, peeling himself out of his wet cloak and not sounding at all repentant. “I didn't want them to bruise. It’s starting to hail.” He held out his basket, which contained five lumpy pears, skins spotted and golden.

Rumple frowned. His relief at seeing his son home safe warring with his worry that he was out at all. He pet the cat, her weight warm and steadying. “It’s dangerous to go out in a storm like this. You should have stayed in town.”

“But you like pears.” Bae threw his cloak over the back of a chair before bringing the basket over and setting it next to his papa on the bench. “And the only reason Dorothy gave them to me is because they’re about to go off. I couldn’t wait—” he paused, noticing their guest. “What is that?”

“What does it look like?” His hand was solid on her back and he could feel her purr all the way to his toes.

“Since when do you like cats?”

“I’ve never disliked them.”

“Hmm.” Bae sat by his papa’s feet like he used to do when he was a wee bairn. He grabbed a pear from the basket and took a bite, juice running down his chin. He wiped it off with his sleeve.

“Want some?” he asked the cat, holding it up to her.

“Cat’s don’t eat fruit,” Rumple said, even as her nose twitched and she leaned forward to inspect the offering.

The boy hmmed again, smiling as her rough tongue lapped at some of the juice. He didn’t say anything else for a minute or two, eyeing her with more intensity that was really necessary.

“Papa, where did it come from?”

“She found me out in the field,” Rumple shrugged. “She’s good company.”

Bae continued to stare. The cat stared back.

“It has a ribbon,” he said casually.

“Yes. She always has.”

“They say it’s enchanted, you know,” he said, taking another bite of the pear.

“They?” Rumple looked down at the bit of silk, still tied neatly around the beastie’s neck. He felt like he had missed something crucial.

“The townspeople. Belle’s challenge, remember?” He watched as the cat pulled herself up to her haunches, tail softly hitting against Rum’s thigh. “You’re  _ her _ cat, aren’t you?” he asked, nodding, a smile breaking over his face. “I’ve seen you around town.”

The cat neither confirmed nor denied the allegation, but her whiskers twiched.

“The challenge for her hand in marriage?” Rumple asked unhappily. “What does the cat have to do with that?”

“Whoever unties the ribbon from its neck gets to do it,” Bae said. “Marry Belle, I mean.”

There was a long pause. “You can’t be serious.”

The boy shrugged. “No one’s been able to catch it, yet. It’s too quick, and very clever.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I’ve watched a lot of the men in town try. And fail. The boys, too.”

“There wasn’t any catching involved, I assure you.” He had a limp, after all. If the object was to catch anything he was well and truly out of the running. What a disappointing surprise that would be, if he were to turn up on her doorstep with the ribbon.

“But it makes sense, Papa. The thing doesn’t like anyone, so you must be really special if it likes you. Belle probably told it to choose someone special.”

“She’s not a thing,” he sighed. “And she seems to like you well enough.”

“Yeah, but Belle isn’t going to marry me.” Bae scooted forward on his knees so he could scratch the cat behind her ear. Her eyes closed as she leaned into his hand. She smiled. 

“Nor me,” Rum said softly. Watching them together warmed him in a way he couldn’t explain.

Bae looked from his father to the cat, eyes still closed, still purring. With a forced casualness, he slid his hand to her neck, to the bow of the pretty white ribbon.

In a breath, the cat was up and away from the boy’s reaching hands, jumping first to Rum’s shoulder, then to the shelf above the hearth. Rum looked from his lap, cold and empty, to the cat. Her tail swished back and forth in fond annoyance. She wore a look that seemed to say, “cheeky boy.”

Bae took another bite of his pear. “I bet it’d let you untie it,” he said.

Rum wished he had his son’s confidence.

“There’s nothing to prove that I’d have gotten it from the cat. Anyone could walk up with a white ribbon and claim victory.”

Bae shrugged. “That’s why they say it’s enchanted. There’s no cheating magic.”

Bae finished his pear before standing up and walking the dozen paces to the kitchen. 

The cat mewled. Grown tired of the hearth, she leaned forward on her front paws, looking at Rum expectantly.

“Back the way you came, eh?” He tilted his head down, increasing the size of her landing pad. She jumped, legs hitting his shoulders before springing forward again, and slinking back down into his lap. She started purring again almost immediately, sitting with her chin up, eyes attentive.

He ran his hand from her head down her back. He bent down, kissed her soft forehead between her blue, blue eyes. She purred louder, rubbing her cheek against his, soft against his stubble.

“If it doesn’t want you to get the ribbon, it’ll run away. But it won’t. Cause it likes you,” Bae called.

Rumple’s hand trailed down her neck, pausing against the silk. Unlike when Bae tried, she didn’t move. But her ears flicked forward, her eyes dilated. Waiting.

Well. If he presented the ribbon to Belle and she declined, it’d give her an excuse to set a new challenge, one that someone would actually be able to beat.

But if no one could even beat  _ this _ challenge, really that just went to show that Belle was better than all of the men in the village. No one deserved her hand. That was likely what she was trying to prove in the first place.

The cat’s tail thumped impatiently against his thigh. 

Maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe, if Belle saw how happy her cat was with him,  _ maybe _ that’d be enough to at least give him a chance. He would like a chance—if not courtship, then at friendship.

“You’ll put in a good word for me?” he asked, running his thumb across the silk. 

She chirped in agreement. She raised her chin, blinking at him in that slow, expectant way.

Rumple stiltskin pulled the ribbon loose.

A flash of light, a sky-blue puff of smoke. A burst of wind like a summer breeze; gone as quickly as it started. He breathed, and his lap was no longer full of cat. His lap was full of woman. A small one, by all accounts, but a woman all the same.

And she was laughing. Oh, how she was laughing. Her hair was a beautiful auburn, hanging in loose curls against her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled blue. She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly as she shook.

His arms went around her on reflex, one finding the hollow of her spine, the other grasping at a shoulder blade. She was wearing what felt like a nightgown; the same silk of the ribbon and a blinding white.

“Belle,” he breathed, amazed. “Belle!”

“Finally,” she said, out of breath. She pulled back just enough so their noses touched, so she could gaze into his eyes. Hers shone so brightly, how did he not notice—how did he not see—

Whatever coherent thought was left flew well and truly from his mind when she kissed him, her lips warm and inviting.

When they drew away for breath, Belle put her forehead to his. She turned, rubbing her cheek against his temple. She’d purr if she could, he knew it. “Marry me,” she said.

His hands clutched at her shoulders. They loosened only to reach for her ribs, trailing down to her hips. There was only one answer to give.

“Yes.”

A sound caught in her throat, and she was kissing him again. 

A cough from behind them pulled them apart.

Oh. Right. He forgot about Bae.

His son’s eyes were wide, full of surprise and excitement and wonder. “Told you so, didn’t I?”


End file.
